Cinderella
by Soon to be world renown Gracie
Summary: There is no such thing as a fairytale ending on the ISS Enterprise. They figure this is close enough. Written for the ShipWars prompt "Fairytale". Warning: Mirror!Universe!


"I can see it in your eyes. You'll never be able to do it," the man smiles wickedly and gently drags the knife across the soft skin of the young man's neck.

And Pavel Chekov knows he is right. He will never, no matter how much he desperately wants to, be able to kill Captain Christopher Pike of the _ISS Enterprise_. The man has too much power over him; there is just too much emotion between them.

Pike leans closer, ignoring the younger man's glare, "You're mine, _Pasha_."

And Pavel hates him just a little more. Pasha was his mother's name for him. His precious mother who had died in a bar fight in his native land. His mother, who had taught him how to kill a man with daggers and how to do it quickly and painlessly, or oh-so-slowly and agonizingly.

And now, here he is, storing Pike's every little touch in his genius brain, cataloging every abuse against his body by that _man_, and figuring out a way to get out from under his influence.

Every position on the ship is taken and there is nothing for Pavel but this: Captain's companion. Concubine. Sex slave. _Whore_.

He wants something more. He wants more to his life than this mindless existence.

He spends his days, while Captain Pike is on the bridge, with his ankle chained to the wall, its length just long enough to reach the head from the bed. With the door and replicator both too far away for him to use, he sits, hungrily dreaming of his dear mother's borscht or potato pancakes until Pike comes back – sometimes with food and sometimes not.

His days are filled with boredom and hunger, but the nights with _him_ are almost enough to make him pray for the day to return so the captain will just leave him alone again.

Every once in a while, Pike won't come home at all, off playing cards with Kirk or enjoying some of Uhura's finer, womanly assets, leaving Pavel alone to contemplate his existence. These are the nights he lets himself remember.

He hadn't joined Starfleet voluntarily and he hadn't always been this weak. The empire had taken him from his home five years ago, after his mother was killed. He had killed seven of Pike's best men before they got him into chains. Even after, he had almost killed the captain with his bare hands. He had been starved for that transgression, made thin and weak with lack of food. Starvation was still one of Pike's favorite punishments.

He was the only son of the famous Ekaterina Chekov, the deadliest woman in the Russian Navy. A genius in his own right, his was a wild spirit made to be broken. Pike wanted to be the man who broke him, he speaks of it often, and Chekov knows his plans well.

Beat him like a dog, use him like a whore, keep him locked away from the crew, use his private name, taunt him.

But it has been two years on the _Enterprise_, and Pavel hasn't broken. Yet.

Chekov has exactly two friends on the ship: Montgomery Scott and the former Orion slave girl – Gaila.

Both engineers are two of only a handful of people who even remember Pavel is still alive. Pike tells him often of the persistent rumor of his death around the ship. Pike does nothing to quell the rumor, knowing that it only adds to his reputation.

The killer in Chekov, his mother's son without a doubt, admires this tactic. The more people who know about him, the higher the chance someone could help him.

And, Pike has reason to worry.

Pavel Chekov is the worst kind of killer; all smiles and curls, all the while planning his next move. Pike doesn't think the boy could even kill him – and maybe, just maybe, he is right – but he takes no chances. He keeps all sharp objects away from the young Russian, never sleeps in Pavel's bed. If the boy were given a chance, he would be dead in an instant. Pike knows this – it's part of the attraction Pike feels for him.

It has been two years since he has last been able to kill, to feel the hot blood run through his fingers as his victim's life drains slowly by his hand. He remembers the feeling well and fantasizes often that it is Pike looking up at him as the light dims in his grey eyes. One day, he will have his revenge for this life he is being forced to live, but, for now, the only thing he really wants is to leave this room, to be on his own and to not worry about what is coming next.

He has flown small transports before, back in Russia, before Pike. He loves the feeling of the controls beneath his hands, of the pure power of flying. He has his eye on the head pilot's position, but he doesn't think an opportunity will ever come up.

Pike has been in quite a mood this week, apparently angered at Uhura for some perceived slight that left the communication officer in the agony booth for an hour and Pike with a hard-on that won't go away.

Pavel has never been one for praying, preferring instead to rely on his own abilities. But, tonight he bends his head, just like he remembers his mothering doing when he was just a boy, and recites the Hebrew words softly so Pike doesn't hear him in the head.

Finally, when he hears the shower turn off, he whispers quickly, "Please, God. I'll take anything."

****

He wakes to someone pulling on his ankle and he jerks backward, scrambling for any weapon he can find.

"Shh, Pavel, it's me!" Gaila.

"What are you doing?" His voice is harsh from disuse – Pike doesn't want to hear him unless he is screaming.

"Getting you out," she grins crookedly at him, "Just call me your fairy godmother."

"And where will I go, Gaila? The instant any shuttle pod leaves, it will be destroyed."

"You're right. But the Empire's dance is tonight. Scotty can beam you down with a group. You just have to be hack by 2400 hours so Pike doesn't realize you've been gone. You'll have time to kill the pilot. Then, Pike can't keep you! You'll be away from him!" She finishes picking the lock and the cuff falls away with a clank.

He takes her face in his hands, her face that was once so beautiful, the one that Kirk marked as his own when they were at the Academy, and smiles – not a feral smile, but a true one. "Thank you, my friend."

She smiles back and pulls him to his feet, "Come on. I borrowed some clothes for you. They'll be perfect!"

Chekov walks into the party confidently, his dagger a familiar weight in his sleeve. He knows it well, like a long lost old friend, the heft and balance as known to him as his own name.

He has less than three hours to kill the pilot and return to the ship with his new position.

****

The mask he wears around his eyes obstructs little of his vision, but protects his identity fairly well, and he adjusts it unconsciously. He has no doubt he will be able to find the pilot in the crowd, despite the fact this ball is a masquerade; Scotty described the man's mask with vivid detail.

The party is filled, wall to wall with crew members and politicians, all of whom are celebrating the day Zefram Cochran began the Empire by murdering the first Vulcans who dared to set foot on earthen soil.

He finds the young pilot with little trouble and manages to avoid a heavily intoxicated Pike. The music in the ballroom is blaring out traditional Earth songs, the beats vibrating deeply in his chest.

He has not planned out this particular strategy, he realizes with regret. Gaila has sprung this on him without warning and now he must improvise. He is, of course, a skilled assassin given planning, but he is absolutely horrid at improvisation.

He grabs a drink, naturally vodka, and slips to the edge of the party to lean against the wall. He has never been to a dance before. He understands the concept of dancing – Pike had led him around the room once or twice when he was feeling whimsical – but the actual footwork of it eludes him. He watches the dancers carefully, memorizing their steps with little difficulty – he is a genius, after all – and waits to see if the pilot will dance.

Hikaru Sulu is standing against a wall, talking idly with a scowling woman he recognizes as a nurse he had seen a time or two when he was first brought aboard. He can just make out the twisted smile the pilot has on his face beneath his mask. The man is in his dress uniform, several of his medals shining brightly despite the dim overhead light – meant to signify the dusk in which the Vulcans first visited Earth – and Pavel is struck with something akin to admiration.

He strikes down the feeling with as much ferocity as he would any man who got in his way.

He doesn't know how long he has been standing at the wall staring at the scarred pilot, but his nerves have started to buzz; his hands ache for his dagger and he is not one to refuse them. He has had to ignore the feeling for too long already. He steels himself and downs his little remaining vodka in one go. He has stood around long enough. It is time to finish this.

He approaches the pilot with as much confidence as he can muster, attempting to seem like a crewman who has just gotten up the nerve to ask his superior a damning question.

"Sir?" He curses the way the Standard words twist in his mouth, but since he is supposedly dead the pilot probably won't recognize him. Hopefully. "Would you care to dance?"

The pilot is amused, he can tell right away, and the man's eyes dart toward the ceiling, as if he can actually see the music that is coming from the speakers. The song has just changed to a quick dance with a heavy beat and Pavel sees this as most fortuitous.

"Why the hell not?" It was a most interesting way of saying yes. Pavel thinks he should use it in the future.

He leads the pilot to the edge of the dance floor, unwilling to get any closer to Pike. It would be easier to draw his weapon this way, anyway.

"So… Ensign," the pilot – Hikaru – glances at the rank on his borrowed uniform. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. What section do you work in?"

Again, improvisation. "The astrometrics lab." The lie comes easily, as most do to him and for a split second he wishes it were true. But, soon he would have a better job than just some drone in the laboratories.

Even beneath the mask – a blue demon that looks straight out of a fairy tale – he can see Hikaru's eyebrow rise. "I thought I knew everyone in the lab." He says it, not with suspicion, but with a bit of remorse and surprise. As if he is sorry that he doesn't know him.

And, for some reason, Pavel yearns for that to be true. He squashes the feeling again and feels himself stumble as the timing suddenly changes. Hikaru steadies him and doesn't remove his arms, preferring, it would seem, to dance in time with the slower tempo, taking the lead instinctively. This is even better, Pavel smiles at the thought.

And the pilot smiles back.

The Russian stumbles again even though the cadence has not changed. Hikaru supports him once more and the smile widens. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

The words are mocking, but the tone is teasing and he finds himself grinning in response. "I'm afraid I have not had cause to dance in a long time."

"Understandable, what with being detained."

This time he stops completely, "What?" He has been figured out. What could have given him away? Was it his damnable accent?

"You know," the pilot seems confused, "in the astrometrics lab? I know you guys are really busy down there right now."

The relief he feels causes him to almost sag in the Asian man's arms, "Oh, of course."

That was too close. He has to act immediately.

They start to move again and Pavel fingers the dagger lovingly.

With swiftness that he is involuntarily grateful he still possesses he flicks the dagger out of its hiding place and lays it at the pilot's throat. They do not pause in the steps, the pilot does not even blink, and Pavel is impressed with his composure.

This gives him pause. It has been so long since he had been so affected by one person. He has never hesitated in taking a life before. He once again steels himself, pressing the dagger roughly to the tender flesh of the man's neck, their steps never halting. A single drop of blood drips from beneath his blade, but he forces it no further.

"What's the matter, little one?" He seems almost bemused at the situation. "Why don't you finish this?"

Once again, he puts pressure on the blade, but he finds himself unable to actually finish the task.

Somewhere above him he hears the bells toll ship's midnight and he begins to disappear. The pilot finally appears surprised as the young Russian lets out a cry of frustration. In a last ditch effort, he strikes out at the Asian, but his rapidly fading fingers drop his family's blade instead.

****

"I'll ask every crewmember if I have to. I need to find out who the boy was."

Chapel sighs, idly inspecting her finely manicured nails, "And for what, Hikaru? Revenge?"

"Yes!" He slams the impressively decorated dagger into the table in front of her but she does not flinch, "I want to know who the little bastard was that had the nerve to could go up against me!"

"You're not going to find him. You said he claimed to work in the astrometrics lab. But, you know everyone in there. You run the place for God's sake. He was obviously lying. And you said he had some accent. No one on this ship has one. You know how Pike feels about them."

He sighs heavily and throws himself down on the seat next to her, eyeing the blade in front of them. "Maybe you're right. But, someone has to be looking for this."

****

Chekov lies listlessly, attempting to not move for fear of pulling at the bruises that cover him, fingering the bedclothes gently. He still does not understand what possessed him to not kill the smug pilot when he had the chance. He had all the time in the world and he couldn't bring himself to finish the deed. Perhaps, Pike is right. He doesn't have it, anymore.

The chime rings and Pavel sighs. If someone wants in, they'll have to break the code.

The young Russian moves his shackled ankle absentmindedly, the metal clinking softly with the movement, his torn skin protesting the action. He licks his dry, split lip, probing the cut with his tongue gently. The captain had somehow found out that he had escaped him room and the punishment was harsh. Pavel hadn't woken up for two days. Chekov suspects Uhura, but can't be completely sure.

The chime rings again and Pavel is sorely tempted to yell out, but he knows he will be disciplined brutally for the deed. He is unsure if he would be able to get his bruised mouth to form the necessary words at any rate.

The hatch suddenly slides open and a sturdy figure enters. Pavel can't make out their identity through his swollen eyes, but he suspects the man is not Pike. Pike has never entered his own quarters so softly.

"Christ," the swear is soft and Pavel dimly recognizes the voice as the pilot. "It was you?"

"You have come," he forces out of his mouth, his voice pitiful, "for retribution?"

The laugh is deep but soft and he hates that the pilot could see him so weak.

"I came to talk to Pike but, I think I found something better."

"Yes," he croaks, "I am, how do you say… easy pickings?"

The laugh is more genuine this time, "No, I… Why did you come to the dance? Why were you going to kill me?"

"To get away from him."

He can vaguely make out the pilot frowning, "You say this as if I'm stupid."

"You are."

He expects to be hit, but instead the man comes and kneels next to him with a grin, examining his shackles with interest. "God, how long have you been here?"

"Two years, four months and seventeen days."

Hikaru looks up at him, surprised, "You're the Russian boy."

"Da."

The pilot goes silent, still staring at his leg and Pavel grows impatient, "Are you going to kill me now, or not?"

"I think not. I have a better idea."

"Oh, I would love to hear this 'better idea'."

If Hikaru can make out the sarcasm in his broken voice, he chooses not to acknowledge it. "The way I see it, we would make good partners."

"Partners?"

"Yeah! I've heard stories about you, Pavel Chekov. They say the only reason Pike killed you, which is obviously untrue, is because you were too much for him to handle." The pilot sits next to him on the bed, his back warm on Pavel's side. "Is it true you killed four men barehanded when they came for you?"

"Nyet," Chekov is appalled that the count is so low. Hikaru seems disappointed. Pavel grins ferociously, "It was seven."

The pilot's grin is decidedly deadly. "Let's make a pact. I won't kill you, and you won't kill me. Let's watch each other's backs."

This is an interesting turn of events and Pavel is intrigued. "Partners," he asks again, merely because the word is so foreign to him.

"Right. Think of it, Pavel."

"I do not need to. What do we do, first?"

****

Pike's blood is gloriously warm on the pilot's hands and Pavel licks Hikaru's blade with a malicious smile that gives the Asian shivers.

"Come, _Captain_." The Russian leads him to the bed with a grin that just screamed sex, "You have something else of Pike's to claim."

****

First Officer Kirk is ridiculously easy to kill, Pavel's blade slicing clean through his neck before he has a chance to fully awaken from his drunken stupor. The boy cleans the dagger with his tongue and kisses Hikaru roughly.

"God, Pavel, think of it!" The pilot is more excited that he has ever been before. "We could be great. Better than… than, Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Than Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt! Eva Braun and Hitler!"

Pavel raises an eyebrow in skepticism, "Braun and Hitler? You have high expectations, my dear."

"Of course," Hikaru grins at him broadly, "Look at us." He gestures to the bloodied walls, "We're amazing."

"That we are. Now what? It seems that we have successfully taken over the ship."

Hikaru walks over to the comm and pages a cleanup crew to both quarters. "Now, we continue on." He offers his arm to the younger man and they leave the carved body of the former first officer on the bed.

The cleanup crew arrives as they leave, looking surprised at who their new captain and first officer are.

Pavel speaks with impatience, "I expect the Captain's quarters to be ready to sleep in by tonight. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Commander!" They salute; shaking slightly at Hikaru's narrowed eyes.

"Good."

They begin to walk away, but one of the crewmen stops them, "Sirs, what are we to do with the bodies?"

Chekov grins at them over his shoulder, "Throw them out the airlock, for all I care. Actually, on second thought, put them both in the First Officer's quarters. I want this room to be an example. But, I want to come back to a clean Captain's quarters."

"And where will you stay, sir?"

"Should that really be any of your concern?"

"N-no, sir! Sorry, sir!

He can practically feel Hikaru's smile, but the Asian says nothing as they walk away.

****

"I am not your whore," Chekov says one night, surprising Sulu out of the doze he had fallen into.

"What? Of course not."

Pavel sits up to get a better look at his lover in the dim light. "You say this like I am stupid," he accuses.

"Well, you are."

Pavel frowns and contemplates his dagger on the table, but Hikaru smiles, "I took you from Pike, not just for your ability in bed, but because you have other qualities I find attractive in a mate. You're smart, you have a good sense of humor, you're vicious, you know the layout of this ship better than Scotty, probably, and you're loyal… You're good in bed. And, God, you were so damn sexy with Kirk's blood on your hands." He rolled over and covered Pavel with his body, pinning him to the bed. "I'm so glad I have you to watch my back, Pasha."

And, somehow, when he used it, his name didn't hurt.


End file.
